They Were Just Kids
by trisjeaneverdeen
Summary: Chronicling the lives of Cato and Clove from their youth until their untimely deaths, They Were Just Kids fills in the gaps in these crucial years to more accurately depict their lives as a whole. Simultaneously fluffy and angsty. Rated T for nongraphic violence and themes of romance. 11 chapters and an epilogue. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** For this fanfiction I basically chronicled my headcanon of what Cato and Clove's lives were like in District Two from their early childhood until their untimely deaths. In it I include many details of my own creation but I do utilize the book's structure for most of it, although I also borrow some things from the movie's events rather than the books. If you've read the books and seen the movies, you'll probably be able to navigate it without many questions. Thank you so much for reading; this was really cathartic to write.

ETA: I love reviews. Getting them seriously makes my day. Any feedback is welcome and encouraged. Thank you all so much.

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A lot has been said about the star-crossed lovers of District Two. Not as well known as the pair from 12 but still, there was an unmistakable closeness between the pair. Anyone watching them would assume that they simply knew each other from their training center, and that was true, but what was not immediately as apparent was how entwined they really were.

In District Two the children are raised like Spartans; warriors, fighters to the core. Every child is enrolled in an Academy from the age of five, and the one in which they are permitted to enroll is determined by a baseline skills test. Some of the skills tested would be common to most schools, tests of verbal and mathematical reasoning, and so forth. But the real determiner of the child's future was an understanding of the skills that would be required in the Games. However this was not, as one might expect, skills like knife throwing or sword handling. No, to gain entrance to the best Academy, the children had to be intelligent in another way—they needed to possess emotional intelligence. At first glance this might be counterintuitive, but any warrior knows that a good understanding of the human mind is the first step to winning against them in battle.

Because of this many parents took to training their children early. Now this isn't quite as bad as it sounds, when they're younger, it simply meant things that any parent would do with a baby; playing with them, giving them exercise, and interacting with them as much as possible to ensure good brain development. As children, they would see it as a fun game. If only they knew.

But by the age of three, both Cato and Clove's parents knew that they had to do more. As both children were only children (as are most from Two, so the parents could better focus their resources), they decided to introduce the pair to each other. Now in Two, two children socializing together (or training, as the district would see it) can be seen as a pre-alliance. This may seem extreme, but with everything being so calculated in their district, it was just the way things were. Every move was considered far, far in advance. Cato and Clove's parents knew this was a risk, in case the children did not relate well together, but they took it anyway, both sets wanting the best for their child and their future.

Luckily for all involved, Cato and Clove took to each other like no one could predict. They weren't just friends, they were inseparable. They would cry when their parents would take them home at night, and developed a system of communicating across the street to one each other after the day was done. It was a simple system, as they were only three, but it involved Clove putting her bear in the window after she got home to let Cato know she got home okay. Cato would then put his wooden sword in his, to let her know that he got the message. Then they would smile as they drifted off to sleep, knowing that in a few short hours they would be able to play again.


	2. Chapter 2

By age of five, Cato and Clove were well known within their neighborhood. If one was seen without the other, someone would undoubtedly ask, "where's your friend?" There was rarely a cause for this, as they were almost always together, but occasionally one would have an appointment or would be sick, but oftentimes even that would not keep them apart. At four and a half, Cato's mother had to punish him for trying to sneak over to Clove's to bring her some soup when she fell ill. She hid her smile as she did so, as every member of Two could, but inside she was happy to see her little boy show compassion for his best friend. Compassion, as one could imagine, was a little seen quality in the children of Two.

At five though, the moment of truth came. Neither Cato or Clove talked about it much on their daily adventure throughout their district, but they were both clearly worried about the same thing. Cato was the first to voice this.

"Clove, are you scared that we won't go to the same school?" Cato asked.

Clove thought about this for a second. She was the less vocal of the pair. Always had been. She tended to keep her feelings inside, as her parents did. She chose her words carefully and finally said,

"No. We will go where we are placed. We will do as we're told."

Cato bit his lip, but eventually replied,

"But we might not be together then."

It was clear that this was the sticking point with Cato. Clove sighed and said,

"Cato, we will just have to see." And that was the end of that conversation.

The next morning they both arrived at the testing center. They both had their written test first and then their practical exam. They were both quite intelligent naturally and both of their families had been working with them from the start, reading them books and teaching them simple mathematics daily, so the written test was not difficult. But then came the practical exam.

The practical exam was nothing a parent could prepare their child for. It changed every year and somehow tested a child's interaction skills, trust, and general social knowledge. Reserved children tended to do the worst, because they are paired or grouped at random with another child, often one they'd never met. Clove was especially nervous for this part, but Cato, naturally charming and a leader, hadn't thought much about it. Well, not much about himself, anyway. He'd worried about Clove, who tended to be thorny and mistrustful upon first meeting someone. He hoped she'd do well. He wanted to be in the best Academy, but more than anything, he wanted to be with his best friend.

Before she felt ready, Clove was escorted into a room and was introduced to a boy her age. They were asked to do a small obstacle course, just a small tunnel, crawling under some ropes, and climbing over a small wooden wall. The catch was that only one of them could talk and only one of them could see. The setup was soft, so neither would hurt themselves if they struggled, but struggling in any form would certainly lower their scores.

Clove was angry. She didn't know this boy, she didn't trust him, and she hated being tested. The boy also wasn't particularly skillful, making her task even harder. She chose not to talk (since she didn't want to anyway) and the boy was blindfolded. Clove, agile and strong for her age, was able to lead him through the obstacles without much trouble. And though she didn't like having to work with him, at least he didn't put up a fight.

After the test, Cato asked how she had done. She explained that she had led and said that she thought it had gone well. Cato too had led his partner through the maze, both pairs getting through quickly and with little difficulty. The next morning they were to report to the testing center once more, to get their results and report immediately to their assigned Academy.

Cato couldn't sleep that night. He felt sick. What if he didn't get to see Clove much again? Technically students from different Academies could mingle, but they rarely had time or cause to do so. There was also a certain elitism about the school a child got accepted into. And generally, children from higher ranked schools did not want to be associated with those from the lower ranked ones. Those children could still volunteer, of course, but everyone knew their chances would be more limited in the Games. They were viewed as weaker, and so was anyone else who associated them. Hence why Cato was so worried.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning came, slowly. Cato kept waking up from bad dreams. Finally it was time and he headed over to the center with his family. He received his results, and to no one's surprise, he was chosen for the top Academy of District Two. Clove came in shortly after and her parents opened her envelope. Her mother didn't smile, but instead looked Clove firmly in the eyes and said to her daughter

"You've been accepted to the top Academy. You will now have to work harder than ever. Never, ever forget that."

Clove, though only five, understood. Her mother wasn't trying to scare her; the competition at any Academy was fierce. She would have to be the best, against the best.

Cato however did not seem not to be thinking of any of this. He hugged his parents goodbye and then was lead, along with Clove, to the Academy. But the entire time they traveled he did not stop chattering to her. He talked about the minutest things, silly things. There was never a pause, but somewhere in all that was said and unsaid, it was clear that Cato was extremely relieved that Clove was going to be training with him. And Clove, although she only smiled for a moment as response, was inwardly equally excited to stay with him.

Training at the Academy was intense. Brutal really. The same day they were whisked away from their parents they began practicing their weapons skills. They used soft, plastic and foam instruments, but still. It soon became clear that they would be perfecting fencing as they were learning their letters. That their school would teach them all the normal subjects, but the emphasis on duty, honor, courage, and survival would permeate all that they did.

Fortunately for both Cato and Clove, they both seemed to excel at everything. They were both smart, certainly. But their skills in weaponry were prodigious. By the age of seven, Clove could hit a bulls-eye with a knife from 10 yards. Cato was equally skilled with a sword, taking down every male opponent in his year easily. By 11, they had both become some of the best students the school had ever seen. Neither bragged, in fact, they would not even show off their skills unless an instructor asked, but something was becoming clear to both of them, something that scared them both terribly, and something that was making them both reconsider everything.


	4. Chapter 4

Clove and Cato were excelling personally at every task the Academy could set them. But emotionally, it was clear that the pressures of their district were beginning to take their toll on their relationship. The year they were both 12, Cato realized something; this was the first year that they could be reaped. This wasn't such a concern, because in Two, there were always people vying to volunteer. But that's when he realized; Clove and he were the same age. They would both be 18 the same year. Horrified, he tried to bring it up to Clove once, but she just laughed at him. Hardened by her years of training and an ever distant and pressuring mother, she had realized this ages ago. She never told him because she knew it would upset him, but how foolish could he be? They knew what they were training for. They knew what they were up against. And if it was the two of them against one another, so much the better. Wouldn't want to go down without a fight, right?

But Cato was distraught. He couldn't kill his best friend. This was the girl who had bandaged his knee when he scraped it at four. The girl whose voice could make him smile, even if he was mad, tired, or in pain. This was the girl who knew his history not because he told her, but because she was by his side. This was killing him. And he could see her becoming distant from him. Not sharing as much. Being colder. And there was nothing he could do to change it.

Finally something between them broke and they had to have the conversation. They were 12. They were both tired from a long and particularly painful day of training. They'd been practicing hand-to-hand combat and were sore and hungry. Cato told her he wanted to walk home with her. As they were walking out, he blurted it out.

"I can't kill you Clove."

"Yes you can," she replied. "That's what we're training for. We can kill anything. We have a duty to our country. Our district honor to uphold..."

"Victory is our goal, and we will stop at nothing to reach it. We, the warriors of Two. Yes, I know our pledge. I don't need it repeated to me, Clove."

"Well maybe you do because you clearly don't understand it, _Cato_," she spat.

Cato grit his teeth at this. He didn't want to argue with her. He just wanted to make one thing clear.

"I won't murder you, Clove. I won't. I want to be your ally, but if it comes down to us two..." he trailed off.

"You'll what, kill yourself? Don't be a moron Cato, you'll try to kill me and I'll try to kill you. And the victor will be whoever has the faster draw," she finished coldly.

Cato shook his head. "You don't mean that, Clove. You're not really like this. This is your mom talking, not you. You..."

Clove cut him off. "I'm what, Cato? The little girl who put her bear in her window? The girl who bandaged your knee? I'm growing up, Cato. I'm not a little girl anymore. I could kill someone. I could do it," she finished, her jaw set.

Cato looked down sadly. Part of him was excited that she remembered these things, but the bigger part of him knew that it wouldn't mean anything if he couldn't keep her temper down now.

"You could, Clove. I know that. We all know that. But could you kill me?" He asked, hardly wanting an answer.

They were almost home. They had been walking fast, trying to get out of the cold winter air. Clove looked him in the eye and said, "I could. I could do it. You're nothing to me, Cato. Now grow up." And with that she ran inside her house.

Cato didn't understand. What had happened to his best friend? When did this get so hard? Across the street, Clove was crying in her room. Not unexpectedly, her thoughts were exactly the same. Why was she being so mean to him? Why couldn't she tell him the truth? That she could never kill him. That she couldn't even think about it, not really. She felt this weird mixture of feelings. Sadness, she understood. Anger, okay. But what was this ache, this hollowness that she felt whenever she thought of Cato dead. She'd been raised a warrior, she knew logically that at least one of her friends would die every year. It was the nature of their lives. But why did it hurt so much more when she thought of it being him? She couldn't answer these questions and it frustrated her. She didn't remember her dreams that night, but she knew he never left them.

The next day she walked to school. She said her perfunctory hello to Cato, and he to her, but something broke between them the previous night. It was like they both simultaneously realized what training together really meant. The next day they had to declare their allies. In Two, district allies were permissible, but the had to be declared before the first reaping where both tributes would be eligible. Therefore, before the reaping when they would both be 12.

Cato and Clove had never discussed this, but from a logistical standpoint, no partner would be more skilled. It was their best hope of one of them returning alive, and so, without ever speaking the words, when the call was made in Assembly, they both walked up together, signed their names, and walked silently back to their seats. Suddenly, more than ever, their futures were entwined. And yet their emotions were becoming increasingly, resoundingly, and seemingly irrevocably more distant.


	5. Chapter 5

One of the reason tributes from Two won so often is because they had a system. By signing allies at age 12, they got six good years to train together. Six years to learn one another's strengths, weaknesses, flaws and foibles. By 18 they would not just know the hand their partner would first punch with, but every single hit, strike, and block that they could use, and when they would use it. They would know their partner's reasoning skills inside and out, often reacting to their decision before they made it. By 18, any two allied tributes would be a literal killing machine. But Cato and Clove, talented from the start, had become students of legend.

Cato, always deft in his movements, had become so accomplished with his sword that at times it was hard to tell where it ended and he began. Clove, so swift and agile, could hit anything she aimed at before anyone was even aware that she'd moved. The two of them were lethal; a deadly combination of skill and nerve, and by the reaping of the 74th Hunger Games, there was not even a debate about their status. That year they did not even have to do the usual pre-reaping raffle, with each potential volunteer's name drawn from the bowl, the number of slips each had in inverse proportion to their rank within their Academy. Cato and Clove were number one in all measurable categories and for the first time in many years, they were also an allied pair.

When this occurred the potential tributes of Two would voluntarily rescind their volunteer status and vow to let the top pair go to the Games. This had only happened twice in recent memory; once with a pair called Enobaria and Poppy and another time with two called Brutus and Peplum. Brutus and Enobaria survived their partnerships and were to be the mentors now of Cato and Clove.

The reaping passed as all reapings did, uneventful, because the choosing was always done beforehand. If someone dared to challenge the status quo and attempt to volunteer despite its predetermination they would be treated as an outcast, even if they did get chosen and win the Games. Even in Two, there were certain things considered to be unforgivable.

Cato said goodbye to his parents as all tributes did, outwardly strong and brave and inwardly terrified and broken. For all that was said about the brutality of the children of Two, they were just, when it came down to it, children. Cato even shed a small tear when saying goodbye to his mother, knowing the things that he did. He hid it from her and his father, but of course he knew something that they didn't; that he was never coming home. This was going to be his last goodbye. He was sure of it.

Though he had never said it to Clove, to anyone really, Cato had decided when he was 12 that he was not going to survive the Games. He would fight, he would appear appropriately vicious and angry to ensure the honor of his district, but he would never mean any of it. No, the only hope he had in his life was that somehow, in some way, he would be able to protect Clove from some of the horrors of the Games and, if he could, make sure that she would come home. This was why he'd trained so hard all his life. This was why he made sure he was the best. Not because he cared about his district, nor his own prospects of glory and honor, but because in his heart he loved his best friend. And when you love someone, you would do literally anything to protect them.

Clove's goodbye was predictably unemotional. She hugged her mother briefly and awkwardly and nodded solemnly at her father as he pat her on the shoulder. They spoke little, as their family did, but their message was clear; come how with your knives or come home on one. Duty, honor, loyalty to Two. They lived this, they breathed this, and this was all they knew.

Stepping onto the platform Cato looked at Clove peculiarly. His eyes seemed to have a mixture of sadness and regret in them. She knit her brows in response but before either could say anything they were swept away by Brutus and Enobaria for the short train ride into captivity, to the Capitol, to their deaths.


	6. Chapter 6

The train ride wasn't long but Cato had a feeling that no matter how long it was they would not have spoken. As deeply as he felt for Clove, and though they had spent almost every waking hour together since they were 12, they had not spoken freely with each other in almost six years. This was Clove's doing, her emotions closely guarded and her mouth firmly closed. Cato often thought that she hated him because of what she had assumed he would do to her, given the chance, but the truth was that Clove had to guard herself, guard her thoughts, because if she was truthful with herself she might explode from all the feelings she'd been keeping in for so long.

Although Cato never knew it, Clove loved him deeply too. You'd be unable to tell, if you looked at her, as her cutting remarks and sadistic behavior would not lead anyone to believe that she loved, but, like Cato, it was all an act to protect herself and her family. To show weakness in Two was a death sentence, and for an eligible trainee at the most prestigious Academy in Panem, it would be unthinkable. She needed to appear unbreakable so that she could be the best. She needed to be ranked first so that she could volunteer to be with her best friend and partner, to try to keep him alive. When Cato asked her, at 12, if she could kill him, she lied. She lied in the worst and most irrevocable kind of way. She lied about what was most important to her, her reason for being. She said the opposite of what she'd meant and regretted it ever since. But once the words were spoken, she'd made her bed. Now she would just have to lay in it.

They arrived at the training center and went through the remake process. It was less intensive for them than for outlying districts, where the hygiene was worse and their resources fewer, but it was still an uncomfortable process for both of them. Neither had even paid much attention to their appearance and for it to be a subject of any conversation seemed pointless and grating to both of their worn nerves. Nevertheless, it did show them something about the other that they hadn't realized before; that, if they tried, they were both extremely good looking. Cato had always known that about Clove, he'd gotten lost in her eyes more than once and had to explain himself quickly to avoid a stabbing, but Clove had never let herself appreciate the angles of Cato's face or the grace of his muscles beneath his clothes before. That night, at dinner, they both kept smiling very small smiles and changing them to grimaces before they were caught, but they knew the other well enough to know what was going on. There was always a certain electricity between the two; it was what made them such good fighters. But now this energy seemed to have grown, multiplied even, into something that both were afraid of, although this was an entirely new kind of fear.


	7. Chapter 7

Their days of training were a complete bore to both of them. They'd both mastered every skill that was taught by the age of 10, but their mentors had insisted that no matter what, they were never to appear tired with it all, as it would break character. At every moment they were to be biting, fierce, malicious, and cocky. They could not let their guards down, not even among their District One allies, Glimmer and Marvel. Their mentors also encouraged them to appear very friendly with them, even to act flirtatiously with them during training and beyond, to ensure their partnership. Glimmer and Cato had taken to this, Glimmer a little too enthusiastically in Clove's opinion, although thankfully Marvel took one look at her and merely nodded politely, much to Clove's relief. It was hard enough pretending not to love one boy; to have to pretend to even like another would have been beyond her abilities.

On the last night of training they had their tribute interviews. They were not coached much during training about these; they had taken a class all that previous year called Presentation where they went over all that they'd have to know. The class was only for the final year students in their Academy and, not surprisingly, they were the only two in the class because so many assumed they would represent their district. In any event, in this class they were given their 'tribute personality' and essentially it was an acting class, teaching how to behave so that no one would doubt their cruelty. As was previously mentioned, nothing, absolutely nothing, was left to chance when it came to the protection of the identity of Two. You played your part or you'd be sorry. That was the unwritten motto, in Clove's opinion.

Their interviews went as planned, Clove seeming talented and deadly and Cato appearing collected but ferocious, and when they exited their mentors greeted them both with assurances of many impressed sponsors. They both went back to their apartment, watching the TVs for the other tributes as they went but neither caring really. The other tributes were never the real competition. They never had been. They were merely obstacles until the real challenge arrived. There both knew there was only one person that could not die in the arena. The difference between them and the other tributes was that for them, that person was not themselves.

They both got back to their apartment by the time the girl from Eleven was on. Clove had been especially taken with her during training, watching her scale things with ease and seeing her expertise with roots and berries. She knew the girl would be one to watch, although she was sure no one else would take her seriously. There was also something about her, about her eyes, which suggested great emotional maturity beyond her small number of years and that, more than anything, was what intrigued Clove. As someone from Two she understood well the importance of this and realized sadly, that if Cato was to come home, the little girl would have to die too. This more than anything got her so emotional that she almost let out a small cry at the inhumanity of it all, that a twelve year old would be sent to die in such a horrific manner. What was wrong with their world that this could happen and no one would try to prevent it?

The boy from Eleven went as did the girl from Twelve, who Clove was not crazy about because she seemed silly and stupid, like she was trying to pretend she was likeable when in fact she was not. Clove knew that she shouldn't judge her, that if it were not for her Presentation class she would not be so skilled at expressing herself, but instead she became cold and vindictive toward her, a small allowance of emotion to stem off the flow she felt within herself at the injustice and depravity of it all.

Finally the boy from Twelve went and Clove knew he was a force to be reckoned with. Not because of his material skills, they were few and she had a feeling that even if they'd trained him, he still would not have had the heart necessary to enact them. But there was something about him, when he spoke, that everyone listened. Everyone believed every word he said. He was charismatic, influential. Clove distrusted him but knew that he would be powerful in the arena, because he seemed to have good instincts and was excellent at both arousing and abating others when he needed to.

"He would be a good negotiator on our team," she thought idly, thinking that maybe she'd tell Cato about him later. But what he then said next shocked her, appalled her, and more than anything, made her want to explode with rage.

This boy, this stupid boy, was on stage, declaring his love for that idiot girl. This was his plan. It was genius. Make the Capitol sympathetic to their plight. Oh the poor hungry kids from Twelve. With their backwards customs and their little love stories. It made her sick. If she thought, if she even fathomed that this could ever work, this would have been their plan years ago. They had every right to use it. It would not even be disallowed because even in Two there was romance, albeit spartan. Clove wanted to smash the TV in with her bare hands. She looked up at Cato, who, though she thought would be angry too, looked at her with such sadness that she'd never seen before. Her heart stopped.

Cato was silent for a moment, just staring at his best friend's sparkling deep brown eyes. Even with rage in them they were mesmerizing, because they were alive. He looked at her with the pain of the world in his and just said,

"That could have been us. We could have used that. No one would have ever questioned us. They would have understood it was to get us home. We could have…"

Cato stopped and stared at the ground. There was a lump in his throat the size of a stone. He tried to swallow it down but it wasn't happening. He tried to breathe evenly, to control his emotions, but it was fruitless. A single tear slipped down his cheek and he let it happen. He didn't brush it away because there was no point. Tears or not, Clove knew him inside and out. She knew what he was thinking. He'd only said it to make it real, concrete. She'd always known. But what he could not have predicted was what would happen next.

Clove reached up her hand and brushed his tear away gently with her hand. Cato's face prickled where she touched it, but he looked at her with such disbelief that she almost cried too. How could the person she cared the most in the world about not know how she felt about him? Why had she let this go so long being unsaid? She cupped her hand around his jaw and looked into his eyes and said what he never thought he'd hear,

"We could have been together," she finished for him.

Cato nodded slowly, still in shock, and Clove smiled knowingly at him. And then she did something that she hadn't done since they were children; she opened her arms to him and gratefully he slid into them. They held each other so tightly that it hurt at first, but then they both relaxed and just swayed, swayed in their places, to the rhythm of their heartbeats. Clove buried her ear into his chest, breathing in the smell of cologne with a touch of brick dust. Cato was still incredulous at what had just transpired, but was elated at this turn of events. Then, without speaking, he took her hand and they went to her room together, to tuck her into bed and kiss her head goodnight, as he used to sneak over to do as a kid.


	8. Chapter 8

Training was finally done. It was finally over and the parade of the tributes was over, the farce slipping and the reality of the situation emerging; that though they'd fed the pigs and showed them, it was now time for the slaughter. That night before the Games and neither Cato nor Clove slept soundly, finally realizing what the pinnacle of their lives had become. They were all just animals to die for the enjoyment of those in the Capitol. When their district talked of duty and honor what they meant was fear and cowardice and subservience, because anyone with courage and a brain would have stopped these Games, not fought in them. Both Cato and Clove finally were realizing this, but there was nothing they could do now but play their parts. To do otherwise would mean certain death not only for them, but for the other, and also their families.

After the train ride they were lead to the Stockyard and they entered their cylinders without complaint. They were mentally prepared, in top physical condition, and more than anything, ready for this to be over. Neither wanted to die, particularly, but it was all that was left for them to do, wasn't it? That is, if they wanted the other to stay alive.

They stayed on their circles for the prescribed minute and then the bloodbath ensued. Cato took the weakest out first, as was their plan, to put them out of their misery. They would suffer far worse deaths from dehydration or worse, slow deaths at the hands of incompetent tributes, so it was best to off them quickly. It was honestly the kindest thing. Clove however went after the Girl on Fire, because she was to take the strategic kills. Katniss was one not because of her abilities necessarily, but because of her attachment to Peeta. If she died his resolve would crumble quickly, as they could both tell that he planned to protect her, so he would fall next. It wasn't easy to hurt these people, but in a way they were glad they were so trained. It made it clinical, a task to be done. They could not see them as humans. Then it'd be impossible.

Katniss however evaded Clove, and after the bloodbath was over there were 11 down. An impressive first day by Capitol standards, enough blood to make sure that Cato and Clove had a few days of safety before audiences got bored. So much blood, too much, Clove was honestly sickened with it already. But there was no going back, only forward, and they both knew what they had to do.

The days passed, the kills passed. The faces went up in the sky. They took on Peeta as their ally because it was their best chance of finding Katniss. Their team sustained its first loss at her hands and at that point neither Cato nor Clove cared if she died. They felt sorry for most of the tributes but not her. Not when she was getting to lead a life that they had only dreamed of. What was worse is she didn't even seem that interested in it, like she was just going along with it to save herself. That, more than anything, infuriated the pair. That they had literally led their entire lives to save the other, and this girl had everything they'd ever wanted plopped into her lap and she resented it. They both hated her more than they could say.


	9. Chapter 9

The only bright spot on the horizon was the day when an unexpected announcement was made. Both Cato and Clove had expected something like this, what with the 'lovers of 12' proclamation at the interviews, but it had a twist neither of them was expecting. Two tributes could live if they both originated from the same district. Two. They just had to be from the same district. Cato could not believe his ears.

But before he could say anything, when he was still frozen in shock, Clove looked up at him with disbelief, confusion, and something that looked like awe in her eyes. And before he could say one word, she leaned her head towards him, tentatively, slowly, as though she herself was not sure herself of what she was doing, closed her eyes, and kissed him softly.

It was just the briefest kiss, but it pricked with the electricity of a thousand unsaid words. It was the culmination of so many shared looks, thoughts, and undone actions. Clove pulled back and just stared at Cato, looking positively terrified at what she had just done. Cato was shocked for a second, not moving, but then suddenly he looked at her with this gleam of wonder in his eyes and his face broke into the widest smile she'd ever seen. He looked like a kid again, the sweet, happy-go-lucky boy that she had grown up with. He looked like he couldn't believe his eyes.

Because here she was, dirtier than even after the worst training day, her hair mussed and her clothes torn, but she'd never looked more beautiful to him. He forgot where he was. He forgot that there might be a camera on him. He simply tucked her hair behind her ear and said,

"I love you."

Clove looked back at him, half fearful, half amazed, and just beamed. She then hid her face in his shirt and started laughing with that slightly hysterical laugh that accompanies embarrassment. Cato laughed too from deep in his stomach and before they knew it she was laying by his side, resting her head against the underside of his arm.

For a while they just stared at each other, Cato smiling somewhat stupidly. She smiled back, radiating this happy energy that he'd always known was in her but bursting inside because now he was actually seeing it. They kept giggling and then looking away awkwardly. It was strange, was it not, when your best friend somehow turned into something more. They'd seen each other in countless embarrassing circumstances, seen the other at their most ugly ages, but yet it was now that they blushed because while they knew each other inside and out in some ways, they were woefully inexperienced at being vulnerable with each other.

Clove sighed and rested her head in the hollow between his shoulder and his chest. She fit perfectly in his arms. She snuggled her head in and Cato wrapped her in his arms protectively around her. He'd held her before, in training exercises where she pretended to be injured, but it felt so much better when closeness was their sole intent. For a while they just sat there breathing, in and out, catching their collective breath from the leap they'd both just taken. Cato spoke first.

"I've always wanted this, you know," he started.

Clove didn't say anything but instead he felt her nodding against his chest.

"I always have too," she replied, quietly, stopping to look up at him. "When did you know?" she asked shyly, blushing as soon as she'd asked the question.

Cato laughed and said, "How long have we known each other?" She looked down, grinning. He smiled, waiting until she returned his gaze to continue. He then looked her in the eye and said,

"I wanted to be with you forever as soon as I knew what forever was. When we were younger it just meant that I cared about you, that I liked playing with you, that I never wanted to say goodbye. When I got older, my feelings changed and suddenly I realized what it meant when I felt like that. I realized…"

He stops. He breathes to collect himself before he starts again but Clove finishes his thought for him:

"You realized that you loved me," Clove finished simply.

Cato nodded solemnly, slowly, never breaking eye contact with her.

Cato breathed in and said, "I realized that I loved you more than I loved breathing. Literally. I realized that I would do anything to protect you and save you from this world. I knew that I wanted you to be happy more than I wanted to be alive. So I did what I had to do. And now I think that you must have done the same…" he breaks off, voice cracking.

Clove looked her best friend in the eye, and like the woman of few words that she was, simply said, "Always."

For the rest of the night they just held each other. Clove slept in his arms as they listened to the sound of the rain against their tent. They just breathed, in and out, trying to drink in every moment of this. They knew now that whatever happened, there was hope. Hope for a future, for both of them. This thought got them through the night peacefully, a sweet ending to what had become the best day of their lives.


	10. Chapter 10

Unfortunately for them their night was cut short because of the feast the next day. They awoke around 3 AM and began silently preparing themselves. They needed antibacterial medication desperately because Peeta had cut Cato's leg before he escaped and now it was getting infected. Cato said nothing about it but Clove had seen him wince and, knowing how much it took to get him to acknowledge pain, they decided to go for it. And if nothing else, they knew that Katniss would be there for the same reason. This had to end soon. And they wanted it to be on their terms.

Cato didn't want to let Clove go but there was not much of a choice. With his leg being injured he could not run as fast as normal and he was never as quick as Clove to begin with. He felt wary but he knew that when Clove decided something that it was unwise to try to dissuade her. And in any event if the Games did not end soon the infection might get into his blood, and he'd become even more of a liability to Clove.

Clove wasn't worried about the expedition. She knew she was fast enough to get the package and get away unscathed, what she was more concerned about was that she would undoubtedly now have to kill Katniss, and while she didn't like her, she wasn't looking forward to it. They packed up the tent and ate quickly, both alternating between smiles and worried looks.

Cato began,

"Clove, I really don't want you to do this," his voice trailed off at the look on her face. Clove had that hard, determined look on and while he knew it was fruitless, he had to at least try to stop her.

"Cato, don't. I'm going and you know you can't stop me," the hardness in her voice returning, more like the usual shell of herself.

"Clove…" Cato sounded in pain, but not the physical kind. His voice sounded like an ache.

"Cato, you know I have to do this. We can end this. We can go home. Don't you want to go home?" she said this all in a way that would sound understandable to any Capitol citizen or sponsor, but the look in her eyes told him that she was speaking to the him as the girl from last night. Home meant together. Home meant a future. Of course he wanted that.

So Cato nodded and Clove grabbed her knives, securing them into her belt before bending down under the guise of checking his wound. But as her hair covered her face she kissed his forehead and said,

"I'll miss you. Wait here for me."

Cato kissed her lips quickly in reply and she stood up quickly saying,

"You'd better clean out that wound while I'm gone. I'll be back."

Always in character. He had to admire her for that.

Clove walked to the feast and arrived before sun up. She scanned across the mist and saw Katniss just before she started to run to the table. Clove darted through the field, creeping silently, and hit Katniss to the ground before she could run back to the woods. Yes, this was it. This could end now.

Katniss, although good with a bow, was not as strong as Clove and did not have the training to wrestle her. Clove began to taunt her, fully exploiting the cruelty that the Capitol would expect from a career.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure and before she could act, she was wrest in the air by the tribute from 11. He had heard her taunting and taken her seriously, she screamed for Cato but he was so far away, he was supposed to stay at the camp while she got the medicine. But there he was, running towards her, slower because of his limp, as the boy from 11 smashed her head in with a rock and suddenly Clove was on the ground. She heard him say something to Katniss before he ran off but she didn't care. Her head was swimming in pain and she couldn't see straight. Her head was wet but she couldn't think of why. Where was Cato?

She heard something heavy drop besides her and suddenly he was there, gently caressing the side of her face. He had tears in his eyes.

"I'll be okay," she said weakly. She didn't like to see him so upset.

Cato bent over her, appearing to check her head wound but instead putting his forehead to hers, talking quickly.

"Clove! Clove stay here, stay with me, you can do this, this is what we trained for, you can... you can do this," his voice trailed off, repeating assurances to himself that he didn't believe.

"Cato, my head hurts. It hurts Cato," Clove started to cry. She had not cried in front of him since they were nine years old. She never let herself. But she was in so much pain.

"I know, I know honey just hold on a little longer… if I can get you somewhere safe I can get Thresh, and the pair, we can end this, just keep holding on, please," his voice was breaking and becoming more desperate. The pool of blood around Clove's head was expanding too fast. Her breaths were so shallow.

"Cato? You know that I love you right? Did I ever tell you that?" she asked softly, staring into his eyes.

"No baby but I always knew that… I always knew," he couldn't finish the sentence. His throat was too tight.

"Do you remember when we were seven? When we were seven, Cato and you picked me those flowers? From that mean old lady's garden Cato and she got mad, she got so mad…" she trailed off with a shaky laugh. Her eyes were fluttering more often that before. She was fighting to stay with it, but Cato could see how much it was costing her.

Cato forced a laugh, a tear escaping without his notice, "Yeah and she tried to tell my mom, thinking she'd pop me one, but my mom just thanked her and said that they were beautiful?" He was smiling. How was he smiling? His best friend, his love, was dying in his arms. How could she always do this to him?

"I've loved you forever, Cato. I just wish I'd told you sooner," she looked pained with regret.

"No sweetie you told me at the perfect time. It wouldn't… you couldn't have told me sooner…"

This was the one thing he was sure of. If there was one thing he was not remorseful for it was the choices he'd made about her. Everything they'd ever done, he could see now, was to protect the other. They'd done all they could.

"I love you so much, Cato. I'm so glad… I'm so glad I told you."

And then he saw it. The spark that was always in her eyes, her fight, her life, was gone. He saw it leave her and knew now that this was just her shell. He closed her eyelids. There, now she could be sleeping.

He didn't want to leave her. He never wanted to leave her but he knew crying over her body was sure to get his parents killed, and probably hers too. The display of emotion over her dying would be considered acceptable as they kept their voices low, but lingering now would be considered traitorous. Spartans didn't mourn their dead. Neither should he.

So he squeezed her hand one last time and kissed her forehead. He muttered his goodbye. And then he took off into the field after Thresh, sure of one thing. He may have to kill again, but one thing was sure, he was not getting out of this arena alive.


	11. Chapter 11

Unfortunately for Cato he'd underestimated his will to live. To die was not an easy thing, because humans, even in ruin, cling to life, and for a person inculcated with the desire to survive, he'd have to work twice as hard against it.

Even injured he was able to kill Thresh, who was fast but not as skilled as Cato. He didn't even realize what he'd done until he looked at the blood covering his sword. He took no pleasure in his death, but it felt good to do something. Anything. To take his mind off of what happened.

Clove. Clove. Where was she now? He wanted to go join her. Why couldn't he?

He couldn't kill himself. That would mean utter destruction for his family and everyone he knew. Suicide was the ultimate form of cowardice and if he did it he could not be buried in their cemetery. And he wanted to be buried next to her. To be with her in some way.

In any event, he had no desire to find the pair from 12. They could find him, he could die of dehydration, he didn't care how it happened. He knew if he waited too long the Gamemakers would force them together but for once in his life he'd wait for that moment. He didn't want to kill again today.

Time passed but he took no notice of it. He dumped out his water hours ago and he was never good at catching food. Maybe he would die here. It didn't matter. There was nothing left here. Something broke inside him when the life left Clove's eyes. Nothing mattered anymore.

He lived in a cloud of grief until, abruptly, he heard dogs barking in the distance. He turned around just in time to see one gaining on him and he ran, because he knew whatever happened that they were pushing him towards the other two, to the end of this.

He ran clumsily, dehydrated and exhausted. He hadn't slept since Clove had died. Every time he tried he'd see her face and relive the nightmare of not being able to save her.

He kept running, limbs working at full capacity until he realized he'd run past the two from 12. He ran towards the Cornucopia, determined to find a flat surface on which to end this. He climbed it easily, his training returning to him, and he began fighting the pair of them. Peeta was never much of a threat and Katniss was so much smaller that even two against one he knew he could win this. They also possessed a deadly weakness in that they cared for one another. They'd protect one another. Exploit that and he was sure to win.

He hadn't planned to fight, but there were some things that never leave you and 13 years of hand-to-hand combat training was certainly one of them. But there was something else, something more powerful than habit driving him. He hated these two. He hated that they had what he'd lost. He didn't want to win, he didn't want to go back, but the bile coursing through him determined his actions, not his brain.

And there he had him. The boy in a headlock. He started talking, not really knowing what he was saying but so angry he didn't care. He'd lost some blood in the conflict and he was already dehydrated, his district would blame his words on that, he was sure about it. But the Capitol would not. At least, he hoped not. He hoped they'd hear him loud and clear. How vile they were. Forcing these children to the slaughter. They were just kids. How was any of this all right?

And before he knew it Katniss shot his hand and he was falling towards the mutts. They ripped and tore at him, but he didn't notice. They'd kill him soon. Wouldn't they?

But of course they wouldn't. The Gamemakers would never be that kind. The Capitol wanted the tributes to do their dirty work. So he lay there, moaning, as pain surrounded and encompassed him, but he didn't really care. The worst pain of all was in his heart and what could be worse than that?

He thought of Clove and she kept him company. He thought back on every memory of them as children. Holding hands while walking to the store. Exploring every nook and crevice of their district. Her teaching him how to sew, him teaching her how to build. When they were 11 and they'd snuck out to a field to watch the stars. They way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. The look she gave him before she did something mischievous.

Soon he wasn't lonely anymore, he wasn't in pain. It was like Clove was with him, and the longer the night wore on the more real she became. He cried out no longer because of his wounds, but because he was so close to her but he couldn't reach her, that they would not deliver the final blow.

Finally, eventually, Katniss stood up and aimed her bow at him. His final word in this world was 'please'. He didn't fear death anymore. He welcomed it. He closed his eyes as she shot his heart and the last thing he saw was Clove, grinning at him from ear to ear; ready to welcome him into this next adventure.


	12. Epilogue

Clove's mother had never been a gentle woman. Spartan to the core she valued strength and intelligence about all else. And although she'd never told Clove how much she meant to her, she was more proud of her that she ever knew. After watching her daughter die on screen she went to her old room and wept. She'd never let herself cry, not in years, but she could not help it now. The loss of a child takes more than a person from your life; it takes a piece of your heart. She didn't leave her daughter's room at all, her husband coming in to join her intermittently, alternating between holding her and bringing food that neither ate.

A few days or maybe just hours after she'd entered the room, who could tell, her husband brought her yet another try of food that neither would look at. He sat down next to her on the bed and took the brush from Clove's bed stand and began to work his way through her hair. Clove's mother smiled at his kindness, as last thing on her mind lately was her grooming, and when he was finished he looked at her and said simply,

"Cato died today."

Clove's mother's face lit up, and her husband was befuddled. Her mother though stood up with a start and walked towards Clove's dresser, opening the bottom drawer. From it she took out Clove's bear, which she had always hid from her mother, as she got older, fearing she would take it from her. Clove's mother however smiled at it and hugged it to her, grateful to have this reminder of her child in her arms. She walked towards the window and across the way she saw Cato's mother, looking just as terrible as she felt.

Without warning, she placed the bear on the sill and stared across the street until Cato's mother looked up. Cato's mother, upon seeing the bear, began crying in earnest and disappeared from the window, and Clove's mother was afraid that she'd scared her away.

But instead, when she reappeared, she was holding something small and wooden in her hands. A sword, placed in the window, and Cato's mother put her hand to the glass, reaching across to where Clove's mother stood.

Clove's mother put her hand the glass too and though they'd rarely spoken, the sentiment was clear. Though they were no longer with them, in this world, somehow, somewhere, they were safe. And although this symbol had once meant a promise to see the other again soon, now it meant the opposite. Now it meant that though these two had never been able to be together in this life, wherever they were now, they would never be apart.


End file.
